


subtle wavelengths and gentle tides

by 2spooky4u, your mom (2spooky4u)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol'o'rama, Coda, Episode: s09e02 Devil May Care, M/M, depressed!Dean, tag scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:38:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/2spooky4u, https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/your%20mom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean drinks. Sam doesn't. Sam talks. Dean doesn't. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cas is painfully absent. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>9x02 coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	subtle wavelengths and gentle tides

**Author's Note:**

> Fic up fifteen minutes after the television is off; I have no life. Ahem. Anyways.

"Talk to me, Dean."

 

"What's to talk?" Dean replies brusquely. He and Sam have just finished their heart-to-heart and Dean is still drinking. It's worrying his brother because, yeah, he's used to the drinking, but normally it stops after a while. Dean's toeing the line between chugging and drowning. 

 

"We're alive, we're breathing, there's no apocalypse biting our heels-"

 

"World's still ending, Sammy. You just got to look in the right spots."

 

"Well that was bleak," Sam retorts. "Dean, I meant it when I said that we're doin' okay right now." Sam sighs. "It's like, if there's no impending fight that you've got to be sober for, you just don't give a shit."

 

"Maybe I don't," Dean snarks. "Glad you're happy, bro," he continues, sarcastic emphasis on the 'bro' for no obvious reason. 

 

"Dean, what has gotten into you?!?" Sam demands. He realizes that it's not what's gotten in to Dean, it's what's left him. That little spark in his eyes, the smirk, the raising of an eyebrow, the clever and insouciant innuendo constantly on the tip of his tongue; it's all still there, but it's hollow, empty, cold-

 

"Christmas spirit?" Dean says, shrugging.

 

"That makes- utterly- no- sense," Sam sputters. "You need Prozac."

 

"Got it right here, Sammy," Dean says, grinning, at his empty tumbler. "Fuck," he mutters. It's empty. The cask is empty too. 

 

"Dean," Sam warns, like he's about to show Dean a thing or three. 

 

"I'm ecstatic for you, really," Dean snipes, tone neutral. 

 

"You're acting like you acted when....."

 

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Dean snaps when Sam trails off. 

 

"When you lose someone," Sam says. 

 

Dean scoffs loudly, but can't meet his brother's gaze. 

 

"'M fine," he says, but his voice is shaky and he's staring down at his empty glass without really seeing it. His whole body reads of an impending breakdown. 

 

"Hey, if it's any consolation, you'll be too drunk to remember you told me anything in the morning," Sam jokes weakly. 

 

"I can't tell you," Dean whispers. 

 

"Yes, you can."

 

"No." Dean closes his eyes. His shoulders are slumped and his breaths are audible. 

 

"Dean, you're allowed to have feelings-"

 

"Not like this," Dean growls. Sam watches, face falling, as his older brother wanders to his room. He isn't completely sure, but he thinks he sees Dean's shoulders shaking with tacit sobs. 

 

The bunker is devoid of life, bleakly thrumming with silence. 

 

In the grey sound of their underground shelter, he feels the absence of the angel Castiel but the sensation isn't sentient like it is for Dean. 


End file.
